Whispered Cheeks and Twirled Hair
by Zagury
Summary: Rose remembers. He made sure she would.


He was simply intoxicating, and she was pretty sure he had figured that out by now.

Maybe it was the tall, muscular build she was so accustomed to, so… familiar with. Maybe it was those achingly cold grey eyes that always seemed to warm her. Maybe it was the pale tone to his skin, the white glare to his always dark clothes that always captured her attention. Maybe it was the easy, light blonde to his hair that made her head turn every now and then. Quite possibly, it could have been the way he curled his fingers in her untamable hair, the way he whispered his memories against her cheeks when they were alone, the way he took the time to make her feel like someone other than Rose Weasley, and made her feel like _his._

These are the images she falls asleep with every night during the summer term before they go back to Hogwarts for their final year. She misses him, _oh_, does she miss him. But he writes every day, and somehow her parents haven't yet figured out the relationship she has so dearly wrapped herself up in, the relationship she will never be able to let go of.

It is then she dreams, and they are often memories that she has shared with him. Sometimes it's Quidditch games she played against him in third year, when Gryffindor's seeker had snatched the Snitch right out of Slytherin's grasp, and she had walloped in victory because that hadn't happened in a good number of years. Sometimes it's the flirty glances they used to send each other in fourth year, when their affections where denied but easily acknowledged. Sometimes it's the competitive glares they used to send each other in fifth year, when she had to transfigure her quill and he beat her to it.

But mostly, it was the nights they shared in the library, when he helped her with the Potions essays and the Transfiguration homework. The nights when neither of them was competitive in that corner close to the Restricted Section, and neither of them were boasting or trying to get ahead or shooting their hands in the air. It was when they were easy going and accepting, but it wasn't until just that sixth year that they had ventured further into their ardors, when their hands collided while reaching for clean parchment or new quills or books from the shelves, or when their knees bumped because he had started sitting next to her rather than across.

It was after hours the first night they had been truly alone, the librarian so fond of them that she let them stay, sure that they would be studying for that Charms test in the morning, or the Ancient Runes citing they would have to perform the next afternoon. It was when she had dared to press her thigh against his so very slightly, and when he had reacted, his nimble fingers reaching for hers across the table. It was when she had wanted to withdraw, but he was persistent, passionate, and it was when he had pressed his lips to hers so softly, so gently that she had melted and become solely _his_ forever.

It was when she has responded, her hands sliding to his forearms when his hand held her neck, his other at her waist. It was when she kissed him back and tried to make him hers, but she never knew if she succeeded because he was Scorpius Malfoy, for Merlin's sake, and he never let anything slip by her. It was when he had pulled away after that, his mouth pressing against her cheek and his fingers twirling in her hair and he had said it.

"_I'm in love with you."_

And she had sighed, because that had been all she had wanted to hear for the past few months of her life, and now that they were finally there, she was able to return them without a thought, without a heartbeat or pulse or blink. He welcomed them competently, pressuring his lips just so against the skin of her cheek, her fingers moving lightly along the fabric of his robes and he sighed, just like that, and it was agreed that this was their meaning.

It was when he had sat with her on the train home, just the two of them, getting a head start on next term's homework and sitting quietly, because there was nothing left to say that could have expressed their dread for the moments to come, when they would either confess or love in secret. It was five minutes before they arrived, already the view of London in the windows, that he leaned over and pressed his lips to hers again, like they did at the library every night, but they were both laced with affright, laced with fear, laced with anticipation, but it was laced with love and that was all that mattered.

It was when she was ready to admit it, when her hand met his cheek and he opened his eyes, meeting hers with such intensity that it overwhelmed even him. It was when he put his hands on her wrists, trying to offer a source of warmth but she was cold, nonetheless, when she was trying to push out the words that she hated to say, that she had refused to accede for the final weeks of her only sixth year at Hogwarts, but she said them.

"_I'll always be yours."_

And he couldn't have helped but kiss her, but revel in the sincerity and purity that was his forever, that would always be within his reach even if they were separated by the red hair or the scar or the pale skin or the freckles or the new robes and the tattered ones. He had the bushy, dark red hair and the scattered (seven) freckles on her nose and the temper of her father and the genius of her mother all within his grasp, always his, always his.

She couldn't stop herself from pouring whatever she had into him, in the few minutes that they had left. She had to have him know the truth, the honest and good truth that she was his and she would never change, never be unfaithful. She did not expect his words to be the same, to be quite as honest because he was Scorpius Malfoy, dammit, and he didn't have rules or regulations or things he had to follow. But he said it anyway.

"_And I'll always be yours."_

He whispered it against her cheek with his fingers twirled in her hair, making a memory well worth remembering, making sure she remember this above all the other moments they had shared together, above all the restless nights they had shared in the library. He was hers, forever.

She sighed contentedly as she fell asleep.


End file.
